


Self Isolation Daycare

by TabithaJean



Category: The X-Files
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:28:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23263234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TabithaJean/pseuds/TabithaJean
Summary: What does self-isolation look like with the Scully-Mulder toddler? Family fluff :)Also, first draft posted as I only have a sneaky hour to write this!
Relationships: Fox Mulder & Baby Scully-Mulder (X-Files: My Struggle IV), Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	Self Isolation Daycare

The clock face reads 10am as he wakes to the sun streaming through the lightweight curtains. He is alone, the other side of the bed vacant and cool. If not for the high-pitched squeals permeate the windows, he would think that time had stopped altogether.

The remnants of their 18-month-old hurricane are strewn across the floor downstairs. He stuffs the blocks and dolls back in the toy chest and stacks the dishwasher with the breakfast dishes. The sounds outside lure him like a siren’s call, and he stops mid-chore to obey.

It is cold outside, the sun strong and weak at the same time. He crosses the paddock and spies his little family settled on a picnic rug by the duck pond. Their hair shines in the mid-morning light, red and auburn like toffees, and they are surrounded by books and snacks. Dagoo circles them manically, returning the sticks that Scully throws for him. Mulder’s chest constricts with love. At a time when the world is closing in on itself, he is grateful that they have the space to create their own microcosm.

‘Good morning, sleepyhead,’ Scully greets him. ‘Look, sweetie, there’s Daddy!’

Their daughter toddles unevenly as fast as she can, arms raised, and he swings her up to her delighted shrieks. He never tires of being her superhero.

‘What time were you guys up?’

‘5:45am,’ Scully replies. ‘It’s as if someone knew this was the first day that their daycare was closed.’

‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ He asks, and then murmurs to his daughter, ‘Are you excited to be with Mommy and Daddy today?’

‘No point in all of us being up this early.’ Scully pats the rug next to her for him to sit. He reads _The Gruffalo_ three times before they pack everything into the red wagon and pull it back to the house.

He spends the next couple of hours in the study, catching up on e-mails and completing reports. Everyone who isn’t involved in an active investigation was told to stay away, and despite his denial, he also knows he’s creeping into the vulnerable category, mid-way through his 60th year. The creeks in his knees tell him the truth, even if his brain can’t admit it just yet.

Through the closed doors he hears the bustle of toddler life, a mixture of human and dog feet skidding on the tiled floors, the crash as a block tower falls. The only time he is happy to be sequestered is when he hears his daughter tantrum at the choice of an apple or banana with her sandwich. He hears her hitting the high-chair with her little fist, wailing ‘Chippees!!! _Chiiiippeeeees_!!’, and he puts his headphones in to stop himself from placating her, as he would if Scully wasn’t there.

Parenting has heightened their extremes: Mulder’s suspicion of the doctors treating her after her febrile convulsions was balanced by Scully’s cool trust in their work. Her attempts to provide a daily structure and routine is foiled with Mulder’s approach, best summed up as ‘do what you need to do in the moment to get by’. 

At 1pm, he leaves to eat lunch and finds Scully clearing the kitchen, their little bundle of energy down for her nap. They work wordlessly, each enjoying the silence and intimacy of moving around the kitchen together. It feels like a ballet.

When it’s her turn to work, he finishes tidying up after the morning play and then hopes to snatch a few moments to read. Twelve minutes in, he hears singing over the baby monitor. The screen shows her eyes and nose up close, and she screeches ‘MAMA!! DADA!’. He dangles his head over her face as he changes her diaper, singing ‘Beautiful Boy’ by John Lennon, words adapted for his own child. She pulls his hair and laughs.

They do play-doh. They read more books. She makes up a game: she pushes her teddy in her little stroller and knocks it over with a brute force that makes Mulder proud.

‘Uh oh!’ she shouts, standing her stroller up. She picks up the teddy and rocks it violently in her arms. ‘S’ok. ‘S’ok. All better.’ Holds the teddy out for Mulder to kiss, and puts it back in the stroller.

She repeats this for the best part of an hour. Mulder lies beside her, doing whatever is asked of him. He loves this kind of play, when she invites him into her perspective. He knows Scully finds it challenging (‘I just always feel there needs to be some kind of _point_ , Mulder. Does that make me a bad parent?’), but he is happy to let her imagination wash over him and consolidate whatever it is that she’s trying to work out.

At 5pm, Scully emerges and makes mac’n’cheese with broccoli. Mulder escapes the carnage of dinner time to run the bath and finds himself distracted by his book for another cheeky 20 minutes. He returns to a quiet, messy kitchen. His daughter is watching Peppa Pig, snuggled against her mom, whose head is heavy against the back of the couch, eyes closed, mouth open, breathing deeply. For the second time that day Mulder sends a quick prayer of thanks for his little family to whatever benevolent being there might be. His two girls, so alike. Both going, going, going until they pass out wherever they find themselves.

‘Dada!’ the smaller of the two exclaims, and Mulder puts a finger to his lips. She copies, whispering a loud stage ‘shhhhhh!’

‘That’s right, baby girl,’ he says, lifting her out of the warmth of the cuddle. Scully doesn’t stir. ‘Let’s leave your Mom for a few minutes while we clean up.’

He makes her belly-laugh by putting foam on his chin and ho-ho-ing like Santa Claus. She splashes and he mops the floor with a towel, a losing battle, but one he has to at least try. Scully appears with a fresh towel and scoops up her child, fresh and wet like a daffodil after rainfall.

‘Give Daddy a kiss goodnight,’ she says, and they both kiss her damp cheeks as she pushes them away in annoyance. Scully walks down the hall to read bedtime stories.

Mulder finishes cleaning the kitchen, scraping mac’n’cheese off the floor and play-doh out of the carpet. Finally, they meet on the couch together and find Jurassic Park is playing. A thousand weights fall off his feet as he places them on the coffee table. Half-way through the movie, Scully’s head is heavy against his chest and he nudges her gently.

‘Hey, Scully,’ he whispers. ‘Why don’t we have an early night?’

They slip into bed, Mulder cuddling her back after she turns out their bedside light.

‘I think she had fun with us today,’ Scully yawns.

‘I think she did,’ Mulder agrees. ‘Although her daycare workers deserve some kind of award for their energy.’

‘Agreed.’

‘You know what the best part is, Scully?’

‘What?’

‘We get to do it all again tomorrow.’


End file.
